


Strange love a star-woman teaches

by keita52



Series: Galactic Dating Service [3]
Category: Dragon Age II, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keita52/pseuds/keita52
Summary: Roguish storyteller meets roguish smuggler.





	Strange love a star-woman teaches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amarmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/gifts).



> Title from the lyrics to the original Star Trek theme:
> 
> _Beyond the brim of the star light,_  
>  _My love is wandering in star flight._  
>  _I know he'll find in star-clustered reaches,_  
>  _Love, strange love a star-woman teaches._

“No shit, there I was…”

“ _Varric_.”

“What?”

Marian Hawke sighed, shaking her head ruefully. “All your stories begin that way.”

Varric grinned. “Hawke, trust me. This one could begin no other way.”

“Fine.” Hawke finished her drink and lifted a hand. Corff’s latest barmaid was there in a flash, swapping out her empty mug for a full one. “Continue, please.”

“No shit, there I was, standing on Sundermount and looking down at this giant metal dragon that had just landed.”

“A giant metal dragon?”

“Okay, so it wasn’t a dragon, but that’s the closest thing I could think of at the time! I mean, what other massive flying things do _you_ know about?”

“Point taken.” 

“Anyway, the thing lands, and I see some sort of ramp come out from the middle--”

“So it was a flying ship.”

Varric waved a hand impatiently. “Who’s telling the story here? Yes, it was a flying ship, if you can believe it.”

“I don’t.”

“Hawke, you wound me.”

“You’ll get over it. If there was a ramp, I’m assuming there were people.”

“Yeah, there were people. Three of them, all seeming to have no faces, and have bodies made out of stone.”

“ _Seeming_ , Varric?”

“Again, _what I thought at the time_. Turns out they were all wearing armor, including helmets to help them breathe.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Swear by my office as Viscount--”  


Hawke interrupted that with a loud, rude snort. Varric shook his head at her, then continued. “They didn’t know if they could breathe our air.”

“Air’s air.”

“Apparently not for them. So, the leader--”

“How’d you know there was a leader?”

“It was the person in the front. The other two were flanking them. Anyway, the leader had some sort of magic that said the air was okay, so they took off their helmets.” Varric took a long sip from his mug. “Weirdest shit I ever saw, Hawke.”

“Weirder than the flying metal dragon ship?”

“The leader was as human as -- Aveline --”

“Dammit, Varric!”

“ -- and introduced herself as Pathfinder Ryder."

“The hell kind of name is that?”

“Pathfinder’s a title, apparently. Or a rank. Not entirely clear on that. The other two were _definitely_ not human.”

“Qunari? Elves?”

“Not in the _least_. One of them was this giant creature with _bones_ sticking out from his armor. Face like a lizard’s. Widest damn mouth I ever saw. Bigger than a qunari. The Pathfinder said his name was Drack.”

“That’s not a name, that’s the sound a cat makes when it coughs up a hairball.”

“The _other_ one … ah, Hawke, she was a sight to behold. Tall and thin like an elf, but more solidly built, looking tough as nails. Her skin’s not skin, it’s a tough plate-like material, and she’s got purple markings on her face--”

“ _Varric_.”

“Ask Aveline if you don’t believe me!”

“I most certainly will.”

“Although her description won’t have the same poetry--”

“Maker, Varric, if you don’t get on with this I will throttle you.”

“Promises, promises.” Varric swung his legs away to avoid Hawke’s kick. “Where was I? Oh, yes. So, this other one, she’s got some kind of weird headpiece made of the same kind of magic as the air-tester, and she looks at me and says, ‘that is not a human’. And I look back at her and say, ‘What gave it away, the size or the exquisite chest hair?’”

Hawke’s head made a very solid-sounding _thump_ as it hit the table.

“I’m telling you, Hawke, her voice was like nothing else I’ve ever heard. Got this excellent vibration thing going on.”

“Does this solidly-built not-an-elf with the magic headpiece and the _excellent_ voice have a name?”

“Vetra Nyx. Ain’t that poetic?”

“Very poetic.” Hawke’s tone was as dry as Varric’s throat felt from all this talking. He took a long gulp.

“So Vetra asks, ‘what are you, then?’ and I say, ‘I’m a dwarf. Varric Tethras, Viscount of Kirkwall, at your service.’ And the big lizard guy, Drack, he says, ‘so this is your dump we saw,’ and I say --”

“Home sweet dump.”

“Just about that, yeah. So then they both laugh, and the Pathfinder sighs, like this shit happens to her all the time--”

“A sentiment that I’ve heard Aveline express more than once.”

“Then she starts asking a whole bunch of questions about the world, like how many races there are, so I start talking about the elves and qunari, and magic, of course. But here’s the weird part, they all look at me like I’ve just grown two heads when I talk about magic!”

“I thought you said that they used magic to test the air, and the _startling_ Vetra had some sort of magic headpiece."

“They said it wasn’t magic.” Varric shrugged. “They tried to explain it, but they lost me about two seconds after the Pathfinder opened her mouth. So _they_ really want to know about the whole magic and lyrium thing, and _Bran_ really wants to know about whatever weird shit they use. It ended with me putting them up at the Viscount’s Keep for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh, so I get to _meet_ them?” Hawke’s face lit up in a manner that was usually reserved for new longbows. 

“Hawke…”

She flashed an unrepentant grin at him. “Don’t worry, I promise that we’ll leave half of Kirkwall standing when we’re done.”

“Half, Hawke? Couldn’t you make it one quarter?”

“And you wonder why Bran is losing his hair.”

The door to the Hanged Man opened, and closed. This was a fairly normal occurrence on any given night, even when Varric brought what felt like half the Guard with him. Normally, that many city officials would have scared many of the Hanged Man’s patrons away, but they knew Varric, and they knew that -- unlike many previous Viscounts -- he didn’t care about a few bar fights or games of chance taking place in his presence. His guard rotation for nights when he came to the Hanged Man consisted of the most laid-back members Aveline could find.

This time, however, the closing of the door gave way to a complete and total silence, the likes of which had probably never been seen in the Hanged Man before. Varric and Hawke both turned to see what was going on. Hawke’s jaw dropped.

There, at the center of yet another group of Guard members, were Vetra, Drack, Pathfinder Ryder, and -- _Aveline?_ Well, of course she would have come herself. Ten years of being part of Hawke’s circle had given her a high tolerance for fantastical bullshit. Not to mention that these particular visitors were the most high profile since King Alistair’s visit several years back.

Varric rose from his seat, grinning. “Welcome to my second home. My first, actually, if you go in chronological order.” 

“Now this is more like it,” Drack commented, his voice even deeper and more resonant than a qunari’s. He walked over to the bar and pulled up one of the stools, lowering himself down gingerly, as though he’d broken a bar stool with just his own weight before. “Give me your worst.”

“Uh, don’t you mean best?” Corff’s latest barmaid asked.

Drack laughed, causing several patrons near him to flinch back involuntarily. “No. Your _worst._ ”

“Drack, you’re scaring the locals,” Vetra chided, the tails of her outfit flaring out as she came to join him. “I’ll have what the Viscount is having.”

“Drinks are on me for the rest of the night,” Varric declared in a loud, carrying voice. He was a rich man now. He could handle it. 

“Ah, the time-honored way of keeping a bar pacified.” Hawke still had a wild, disbelieving look on her face.

Having obtained her drink, Vetra made her way over to Hawke and Varric’s table, taking the seat across from Hawke. “You’re going to disappoint Drack if that’s the case. Though not Captain Vallen.”

“Oh, I’m sure there will be at least one fight involving Drack and some idiot who wants to see how strong he _really_ is,” Varric said, grinning as he drank in Vetra’s figure once more. “Vetra, this is Marian Hawke.”

“Ah, the famous Hawke. Vetra Nyx. Pleasure to meet you.”

Hawke seemed to recover a bit of her composure and grinned back at Vetra. “I’ve heard _so_ much about you from Varric.” She cast a sidelong glance at him before going back to her beer.

Vetra laughed. “Yes, I hear he’s quite the teller of tales around here.”

“I’m sure _you_ have a tale or two of your own,” Varric prompted. “Intrepid explorer that you are.”

“Flatterer.” The look Vetra gave him was intense and scrutinizing, and brought up certain ideas that Varric had done his best to bury after his first meeting with the alien trio. “It’s true that we’ve seen a lot since coming to Andromeda.” She paused. “That’s … this galaxy. Think of it as a much bigger version of the Free Marches, with Kirkwall as one of many different worlds.”

Hawke shook her head. “I’m not sure whether being sober or utterly drunk would be better for understanding who you are and where you come from.”

“Drunk, Hawke.” Varric raised an arm and met Corff’s eye. Several more full mugs were on the table before another minute had passed. “You’ll be less likely to say ‘but that’s _impossible!_ ’” 

“Even though it _clearly_ is?” 

Vetra chuckled. “You’re the ones that are impossible to us. We _never_ expected to find humans already here, much less living alongside completely unknown species. Lexi’s going to have a field day with you. Our doctor,” she added quickly.

“Ooh, goody, we get to be poked and prodded.” Hawke finished her mug and picked up another one. 

“For a good cause, Hawke.” Hawke’s expression told Varric that not only had he failed to reassure her, but that if she’d had a _smidge_ less control of herself, she’d say something like --

“I’m pretty sure that Varric would rather poke and prod you, Vetra.”

_Well, shit._

“ _Would_ he, now,” Vetra murmured, casting another speculative glance Varric’s way. Oh. _Oh._ This was either going to end very well or very, very poorly. 

Hawke looked nearly as surprised as Varric felt. By the strength of Hawke's clout on the shoulder, he was wearing a grin that would probably have fit better on Dragon's face. The ancient, near-blind mabari had been left behind at the Keep for the evening, despite his protests.

Varric shook his head and tried to reclaim some of his rapidly diminishing dignity, realizing that he'd missed some of the conversation between Vetra and Hawke. "So, you basically came six hundred whatsits—"

"Light-years," Vetra supplied helpfully.

"To see what was here?" Hawke finished.

Vetra tilted her head to the side, then nodded. "More or less."

Hawke tipped her head back and laughed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone else in the Hanged Man. "I like you, Vetra Nyx," she proclaimed. "You've got the right attitude."

"Maker help me," Aveline groaned from the other side of the room, "there's _two_ of them."

"Hah! That's exactly what Evfra said when Sara introduced him to Scott." Drack nodded in Ryder's general direction. "Her twin."

"So, actually," Vetra said, "there's three."

"Four," Hawke added brightly. "I've got a sister, Bethany."

Aveline sighed. "Bethany would not want to be included in the club of trouble-seeking adventurers, Hawke."

"Three it is." Hawke picked up her mug and walked over to join Ryder and Drack. "So, your brother, is he truly deserving of being included in this club?"

Varric grinned, taking another swig of his ale. When he put it down, he noticed Vetra looking intently at him. "Like what you see?" he asked, and then cursed himself for falling prey to whatever demon had infected Hawke earlier.

Vetra's words chased away all of his regret. "Oh, very much so. Aveline said you used to live here."

Varric sat up straighter in his chair at this apparent non sequitur. "I still have my old room."

"Good. A bit of privacy would not go amiss while we … get to know one another better." Vetra stood, and Varric followed, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Hawke. She caught his eye, winked, and went back to talking to Ryder.

He lead the way up the steps to his room, largely unchanged from the days when it was his primary residence. A single bed, table and chair, a few nicknacks scattered about. He sat on the bed, leaving plenty of room for Vetra to sit next to him. When he did, he wondered if he'd made his first actual mistake. Maker, but she was _tall_. It felt like there should be two of him to make up for the one of her.

Vetra solved the problem that he had barely begun to work through by grabbing his arm and pulling him on top of her, falling backwards on the bed. "Oh," Varric said, that demon of impulsive words coming back once more, "I thought you just wanted to talk."

She snorted, a movement that actually had him bouncing for a moment. Or maybe that was just the giddiness talking. "No more than you did."

He grinned, and leaned down to kiss her. As new experiences went, this was a pretty good one. She was firm underneath his lips, tasting and feeling like nothing even remotely close to his previous partners. After he got over the initial shock of it, he discovered that it was a rather pleasant experience, the hard unyielding quality of her skin seeming to enhance every movement of her mouth, making things sharper, more intense.

Vetra tugged gently at his shirt. He took the hint and rose up long enough to remove the offending item of clothing, wishing that he had the opportunity to pay close attention to her as she did the same.

"You humans — sorry, _dwarves —_ have hair in a truly astounding number of places."

Varric grinned down at her. "I'm an atypical dwarf in that regard, actually. Most male dwarves have thick beards."

She tangled her fingers in his chest hair, tugging gently. He made a sound halfway between pleasure and anticipation. Then her hands moved downwards, resting lightly on his hips before moving to undo the ties of his breeches.

"Ah, that's always a welcome sign." The rich undertones of her voice sent a pleasant shiver through him, a prelude to the ones that struck him when she wrapped long, elegant fingers around his erect shaft. He wasn't sure how, but he managed to get the breeches kicked away without breaking her hold. Varric closed his eyes and let a series of rather undignified, wanton moans escape him, in time to the movement of those graceful fingers. 

"V-Vetra," he gasped, feeling his arousal building to a fever pitch. "I'm — I'm —"

"I know _exactly_ what I'm doing, Varric." The confident tone nearly undid him then and there. He stopped trying to hold himself back for her, because clearly _this_ was what she wanted, and he was in the habit of always giving his partners what they wanted. Her grip tightened, her movements becoming regular. Varric's head fell backwards, his mouth open, his body hot, eagerly surrendering himself to what she was doing to him.

He tried to speak, to warn her again, but his control had frayed to nothingness. With a final groan he spent himself into her hand, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him. And still she kept her grip on him, kept him in place when he might otherwise have tried to lessen the, ahem, _impact_ that he was having.

When he could think again, he grabbed at the towel that was somehow still on the back of the chair and within arm's reach, handing it to her. Her eyes seemed to twinkle as she took it — or maybe that was just the electric blue visor that she still wore. 

"Downright unfair," he gasped after a moment. "Usually I can tell if my partner's enjoying herself by the temperature of her skin. You, on the other hand…"

Vetra chuckled, a deep and rich sound that sent a pulse of desire through him. "Trust me. I am _definitely_ enjoying myself right now."

"Trust, but verify," Varric quipped, regaining his scattered wits. This time _he_ was the one moving quickly and decisively, tugging her leggings down and then what had to be her panties, revealing an opening that looked similar enough to ones he'd seen before. He shifted to slide a finger inside, gently probing, trying to get the lay of the land. In a way, he was grateful to her for forcing his hand and making it so that they pleased each other in turn rather than trying to find a good position. His finger moved almost without thought as he watched her, drinking in the sight of the emotions playing across her face. He loved the way her mandibles moved, the vibration that underlaid her sounds of pleasure. Maker, but she was _gorgeous_.

Varric traded fingers for tongue, feeling a thrill of excitement run through him as he did so. His earlier explorations had told him where he'd have the greatest effect, and he was rewarded by sharp hisses and bucking of hips. He loved losing himself in his partners like this, his attention completely focused on eliciting the most pleasing sounds and physical responses. He felt her body tensing more and more and doubled down on his attentions.

He felt the moment that she climaxed, her body going absolutely still before her moans became delightfully incoherent. Her movements were both rhythmic and uneven, a quick _one-two-three_ where she pressed hard against his mouth before stopping to bask in the sensations. 

Eventually, she wore herself out, and Varric shifted so that he could look up at her again. He was sure that he was wearing a grin twin to the one that she had on her face, that delightfully blissed-out expression that comes after a _most_ satisfying romp between the sheets. 

"So, how much privacy do you have as Viscount?" she asked.

"Plenty," he assured her, sliding up the bed so that he could lie next to her. She placed an arm over his shoulders and gave a contented sigh. "How much do your comrades pay attention to your movements?"

"Oh, they won't care," Vetra said, chuckling. "Drack and I are old friends. He'd say it's good for me. And Ryder hopped into bed with the first alien species _we_ met in Andromeda, so she doesn't have a leg to stand on."

"Excellent." Varric was already thinking about the most inconspicuous ways to get Vetra into his room at night. He'd have to confine in Aveline, who would just make some comment about how she didn't sign up to manage the Viscount's sexual appetites, and he'd counter with the fact that his predecessor likely didn't have any, and they'd banter a bit more before figuring something out. They always did, Aveline and Hawke and the others.

Their pleasant lassitude was broken by a massive roar from below, and they were both off the bed and scrambling into their clothes in an instant. Varric ran his fingers through his hair to make it look semi-presentable and then dashed downstairs, not waiting to see if Vetra followed him.

The source of the roar was Drack, of course, having apparently rammed two of the Hanged Man's patrons into the nearest wall. They were both struggling and trying to push back, getting absolutely nowhere against the massive krogan. Hawke was bent over the table, tears streaming down her face as her fist pounded against the wood. 

"You can let them go now, Drack," Aveline said with a weary sigh. "I think they've learned their lesson."

"Aw, Aveline…"

" _Drack_." The name held the same intonations as the oft-repeated " _Hawke_ ", and Varric burst out laughing. Luckily, the sound, and his reappearance, were just background noise in the face of the _much_ more interesting sight of the giant alien treating two strong humans like they were toys.

"This," Varric commented to Vetra, "looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Vetra laughed. "You got it, Rick."

Varric threw his hands into the air. "Someone beat me to the punch with that line?"

"Oh, don't be so sour. _Casablanca_ is a classic vid."

"Vid?"

"I bet _Tales of the Champion_ would be a hit," Vetra continued. "How would you like to reach an even wider audience than before?"

"You have my complete and undivided attention."

They found the table they had left before, and the conversation continued with a backdrop of Ryder and Hawke engaging in an arm-wrestling contest, of Drack pitting himself against both of them and winning, of loud arguments and raucous laughter. 

Varric felt at home, and judging by the look on Vetra's face, she felt the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written with the MST3K mantra in mind:
> 
> _If you're wondering how he eats and breathes_  
>  _And other science facts_  
>  _Then repeat to yourself, "It's just a show,_  
>  _I should really just relax"_


End file.
